


From a Far and Fallen Star

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 12:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16854052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: In which Bethany Hawke adjusts her brother’s mage-tech, reminisces on the past, and hopes her siblings will make it back from their venture to the distant and dangerous Dead Roads system with only minor injuries at worst.(Or, a peek into the Dragon Age sci-fi AU that, surprisingly, a few people have asked for.)





	From a Far and Fallen Star

**Author's Note:**

> So I talked at length to TheSummoningDark about space!mages which led into discussion of space!templars and now there’s a whole method to this madness. Then lesquatrechevrons mentioned an interest in seeing some of that silly universe written out and C followed up with her desire to read it, and here we are.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Do you remember?” Bethany asked, gently tracing the angry tear of a long-healed scar over the bridge of her brother’s nose. Garrett wrinkled his face like he was fighting the urge to sneeze.

“Tickles,” he grumbled, shifting beneath her hand. Bethany grinned.

She’d always had a softer touch than her brothers, Carver too desperate for approval to manage much finesse beyond the bounds of his temper and Garrett too self-assured to bother with it unless circumstances absolutely demanded. It suited her well, a delicate hand, both in social matters and in her technological pursuits, though it had taken her time to learn.

The technology piece had been significantly more difficult to master than the social - it was no great challenge to trade razor-edged barbs with other players in the Game, even if she had come to it late - and was far and away the application of her tender touch that Bethany favored. Many mages were overwhelmed by the mana flow when their newly adapted synapses came online, and not all of them were capable of learning to shoulder it alone. It was a blessing to bend her talents to the aid of her fellows.

There were creatures waiting beyond the sync to inhabit any mage who failed to control their mana, seeking to consume their minds and wreak chaos and destruction on everything they touched. They were spirits, some said, or demons, from the days before Thedas-that-was evolved from a solitary planet into a full system. Whatever they might have been, they were the gravest danger a mage faced. All too many succumbed to their exertions of foreign will, souls burned away and empty husks possessed by abominations.

Even now, Bethany remembered the day she first synced - the raw power crackling at the edges of her consciousness, all heat and light and indescribable elation splintered through with overwhelming despair. It was easy to see, then, how so many mages fell to its thrall, lacking the pragmatism or wisdom to recognize their own limitations up against the gnawing desire to reach for more.

Implants helped, but they were illegal in the Ferelden system unless you wanted commit yourself to a Circle station. It was possible to hunt them down through less savory avenues, of course, but it was expensive and dangerous. Their humble farming family had lacked the funds to pursue the latter and Garrett’s temperament never would have withstood the former. Bethany might have managed but she had never cared much for templars - egotists to a fault, and the reality fields they exerted to lock down a mage’s connection to the sync always left her feeling sick and wrung out for days afterwards.

She and Garrett had only done so well in those early years without one or the other because they had their father to guide them. He had taken it upon himself to train them as a Circle station would, even going so far as to arm Carver with the knowledge of how to exert utterly punishing reality fields, just as the templars did, should it ever become necessary. Not all who came into the sync were so lucky or well-tended.

In time, with practice and guidance, Bethany had seen that fear relegated to the silliness of youth, only finding a foothold in the darkest, most implacable corners of her mind. Until the twin blows of their father’s death, and the advance of the Blight into their home system a few short turns later.

Simply battling through the darkspawn infecting Lothering II pushed Garrett to siphon greater and greater quantities of mana, which was to say nothing of getting them all off-planet and free of the Ferelden system entirely. By the time she took her hand to him, Garret had spent days shuddering, sweating, seeing things in the empty air that made him jump and lash out, and Bethany’s long-mastered fear had grown new teeth, deeply buried seed blossoming into real and hideous possibility.

“Of course I remember,” Garrett scoffed, startling her back into the present.

He reached up to curl the fingers of one hand fondly around her thin wrist. He squeezed, just a little, and Bethany smiled. She looked from the scar across his face to his eyes, the fraternal adoration shining therein.

“How could I forget? Losing my mind on a free-floating rock in the arse-end of Ferelden because the mana was too much, without two hardbits to rub together and not a credit to our name. My brilliant little sister installing mage-tech on the fly and saving us all.”

Bethany flushed and rolled her eyes at Garret’s theatrics, huffing a small sound that might be on its way to becoming a laugh. None of them preferred remembering those early days, fleeing the only home they had ever known, without their father, without hope, praying to any greater beings who might hear that their rickety little puddle-jumper - never meant to venture beyond the planet’s atmo - would hold up in heavy space.

By the time they hit the asteroid, masking their signals from roving patrols of darkspawn with the interference of its pitiful gravity, Garrett had been a murmuring, quaking wreck. Implants were nothing to mess about with, lacking proper training or technology, but Bethany had been studying, practicing, and she was desperate to see her family make it to the neighboring system alive.

Her hands had shaken as she readied her tools, but they’d been steady every moment after, and in his awe at the relief the ocular implants provided, her brother had never begrudged her the ineptitude of leaving a scar. It was a sign of good fortune that they had survived long enough for the bitterness of those memories to fade, and humor to start shining through again.

“I could heal it, you know,” she offered, tapping gently at the bridge of Garret’s nose where the scar was widest. “I’m much better now than I was then, it wouldn’t take a moment.”

“And rob me of such a roguishly dashing defining feature?” Garrett teased, bringing his free hand up to his chest in mock-horror. “Perish the thought, sister mine. Besides, it’s as good as a calling card for Hawke-tech.”

“Don’t call it that,” Bethany admonished, tugging her wrist free of Garrett’s grasp and swatting at his shoulder as she turned toward the work table at her back.

“Why ever not?” Garrett insisted, pushing himself up onto his elbows and canting his head curiously. “They call Dagna’s work Dag-tech and you’re just as good.”

“I am not,” Bethany snapped, but she flushed with pride at the praise. She dug around for a thin glass display panel, booting it up under the guise of double-checking her diagnostics to spare herself the indignity of seeing the knowing glint in her brother’s eye. “And don’t you dare say that where she can hear you.”

“Please,” Garrett snorted. “She’s as enamored of you as you are of her. She’d be the first to tell you Hawke-tech deserves its own moniker.”

“Well until she does, keep it to yourself,” Bethany said absently, scrolling through the graphs and read-outs, drawn into the data. “It looks like everything is set to go. I made the ocular adjustments you asked for and optimized your mana channels for conduction rather than heat energy.”

“Excellent!” Garrett grinned, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot so that he was seated sideways. “Shall I collect brother dearest for his physical?”

Bethany waved a dismissive hand and abandoned the display back onto the work table.

“I’ve already looked him over, and double-checked the blade barriers on that great bastard of a sword he loves,” she explained. Weapons technology wasn’t her specialty, but the greatsword had seemed in proper working order, and Maker knew that Carver doted on the damned thing enough he would never allow even one of its exertion scopes to fall out of alignment. Garrett hummed his acknowledgement, raising his eyebrows and smirking a little meanly at mention of Carver’s preferred weapon, which he frequently postulated was compensation for some perceived failure in their brother’s anatomy that she didn’t care to consider. Bethany stretched one leg out, casual and slow, and kicked Garrett hard in the ankle.

“Ow!” he yelped, drawing his leg up and away, curling his arms protectively around it. He cut her an overwrought, betrayed glower, and rubbed absently at the tender area. “What in Andraste’s knickers was that for?”

“Don’t be an arse,” Bethany said, pointing purposefully at her brother with one finger. “The Dead Roads are no place to muck about. I don’t want to see either of you injured because you can’t pass a moment without getting into a petty squabble.”

“I would never - “ Garrett started, and Bethany kicked out at him again. She missed, but he snapped his mouth shut in his effort to lean away.

“You would,” Bethany said. “You _do_ all the time. _Both_ of you. I’ll never understand why you can’t just look after one another without complaint.”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Garrett grinned, impish and sharp, wagging his eyebrows. Bethany glared.

“The world is not kind to mages,” she said, lifting her chin imperiously when Garrett shot her a dry, unimpressed look. “He worries.”

“He shouldn’t,” Garrett argued. “We’ve proven ourselves more than capable of managing anyone fool enough to cross us. I don’t need help from him and that great bloody stick he carts around.”

“You’re lucky you’re charming, because you’re terribly blind, brother,” Bethany sighed, rising to her feet and stepping in close enough to reach out and flick Garrett gently on the forehead. He freed one arm from around his leg to slap his palm over the spot and stared up at her in great offense. She crossed her arms over her chest and arced an eyebrow at him. “Has it ever occurred to you that Carver looks after us because it makes _him_ feel better?”

Garrett jutted his chin forward in consternation and muttered, “Of course it has,” which Bethany took to mean that it most certainly had not, though Garrett would never admit it.

“So then, the greatest kindness you could offer would be to _let_ _him_ ,” Bethany instructed hotly. She sighed again and shuffled a step or two closer, near enough to nudge the toe of her boot against the foot Garrett still had on the floor, and said quietly, “I don’t want to lose either of you to something so stupid as a mercantile excursion.”

“You won’t,” Garrett assured, immediate and soft. He nudged Bethany back, his knee knocking against her thigh, and she looked up to reflect his fond smile back at him.

“I’d better not,” she agreed, at a more normal volume, mirth curling the corners of her mouth. “I’ve put too much effort into the pair of you to allow it.”

“Some more literally than others,” Garrett agreed, politely tilting his head to the panels and plates scattered along his forearms.

The distant shuffle of recalcitrant footsteps rose to a steady thud and in a few short beats Carver was glaring curiously around the doorframe. He was wearing his customary fur-lined collar and a light-armor suit with the arms removed, which Garrett asserted made it rather moot overall though Carver never seemed to hear his critique. The grip of his greatsword was secured at his belt, cross-guard folded down and energy blade stowed for the moment. The glowing stone set into the pommel pulsed slowly in soft shades of white. He shuffled a suspicious look from Garrett to Bethany then back again, and asked irritably, “Are we going or did you fishwives want to spend all day trading gossip?”

Beside her, Garrett murmured, “It would be a greater kindness to leave him there.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Bethany replied through her teeth. She extended her arms as if Garrett were some grand prize, and said to Carver, “He’s all yours.”

“Hooray for me,” Carver replied flatly, smirking at her. He turned his attention on Garrett and jerked his head over his shoulder. “Varric’s already on the dart. We’re going to be late if we don’t get moving.”

“Fine, fine,” Garrett sighed, making a production of standing and stretching and casually meandering toward the door. “I suppose we can put it off no longer.”

“If you’d rather take up with the Red Iron again we could always tell Messere Tethras to fuck off,” Carver offered. He considered for a second and shrugged. “Cred’s cred either way.”

“You have no adventure in your soul, little brother,” Garrett said mournfully, slinging an arm around Carver’s broad shoulders and towing him toward the airlock. Carver had to hunch a bit to allow it but he did the courtesy of waiting to shrug Garrett off until they’d taken a few steps. Perhaps, Bethany considered optimistically, they would manage civility until they were both aboard the dart, at least.

“Bring me something nice!” she called at their retreating backs.

“Only if you don’t change the ship’s name while we’re gone,” Carver replied, scowling over his shoulder.

“Oh, Carv,” Bethany said sweetly. “You know that’s the first thing I’m going to do.”

He grumbled something unintelligible and bad-tempered and flapped a hand at her. Bethany grinned.

“Have fun!”

Each of her brothers raised a hand in acknowledgment though neither turned to look at her, the familiar muted cadence of their bickering picking up like distant music. Bethany shook her head fondly, turned on her heel, and went back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (And those of you who know how the Deep Roads quest ends in DAII, don’t worry. Everything turns out fine - kind of.)


End file.
